Chapter 15
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 15
No, perhaps if he had given it a bit more thought, he might have realized. He had simply been too careless. The capital, Riaze, was massive—far larger than any ordinary city. He already knew the distance from Hastin took nearly two months by carriage, yet despite the few villages in between, he’d grown complacent. As the colossal city walls drew closer, he had fallen under an illusion.
He had assumed that once he passed through those gates, the Imperial Palace would be right there.
He hadn't even considered the possibility of a nested structure—a fortress within a fortress, with yet another fortress inside that.
It was daunting. Clutching his hair, Swallow winced as a dizzying headache washed over him.
Should I just run with all my might? If he canceled his Polymorph and ran in his true form, he could easily arrive today. But doing so would throw the entirety of Riaze into utter chaos.
It might very well trigger a Great War, a chaotic clash between humans and monsters. Frankly, he couldn't care less whether they fought or not, but he had no desire to be the one who fired the opening shot.
He also considered using teleportation magic, but it was a terrible idea no matter how he looked at it. Swallow had once traveled from the entrance of the Primordial Core to Melju's Demon King Castle—a distance that took humans over two months—using only three teleportation spells. All three had ended in crash landings. The magic itself worked perfectly, but it never deposited him at the intended coordinates.
Aside from the massive distance it covered, it was practically no different from 'Random Teleport,' the lowest-grade spell that didn’t even use coordinates. The probability of landing in the heart of Riaze on his next attempt was microscopic, and the chances of ending up back near Hastin were essentially zero. No one could guarantee whether his next teleport would drop him into the middle of the ocean or onto an entirely different continent.
Melju had no objections on this point. She was likely well aware that his crash landing on her Demon King Castle had been the result of a botched teleport.
"Then how about flight magic?" she suggested.
"I can't do that either. If I emit mana continuously, the humans will definitely detect me."
Was there truly no way to reach the Hub quickly?
Just as he was sinking into despair, a man named Belviro appeared.
"Pardon me, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," the man said, "but you two travelers over there—are you by any chance heading to the Hub?"
Near the castle gates guarded by sentries, a man had been tending to a carriage drawn by two bizarre creatures. His polished, professional smile welcomed Swallow and Melju.
And that was how Melju and Swallow ended up lounging comfortably in their current position.
They were flying through the sky. A carriage that flew through the air—they had never even heard of such a thing, let alone known it existed.
The driver was a slender man with neat, short black hair who introduced himself as 'Sky Horseman Belviro.' His carriage literally flew, though whether one could actually call it a horse carriage was debatable. The beasts pulling it were not horses at all, but two creatures with human heads, exceptionally thick limbs, and a pair of wings larger than their own bodies sprouting from their shoulders.
"They are homunculi created through alchemy," Belviro had explained.
Heavenly Wings—abandoned fourth-generation homunculi.
In truth, they were the products of the Empire's 'Artificial Angel Manufacturing Project.' It had been a project designed to undermine the prestige of the Orthodox Church with artificially created angels, ultimately aiming to depose the Pope and solidify the Emperor's status as the sole divine authority.
Belviro stroked the head of one of the Heavenly Wings as he introduced them. As if in response, the creature’s mouth gaped open, looking twice as large as a human's. Its long tongue, split into three distinct forks, flicked out.
No matter how one looked at them, they shared absolutely nothing in common with angels, save for the fact that they possessed wings.
Their skin was a deathly, pasty pale, with blue veins showing clearly through the translucent flesh. In appearance, they were closer to chimeras.
Observing Swallow's curious gaze and Melju's disgusted recoil, Belviro offered his professional smile once more.
"As you can see, it's a bit of a stretch to call them angels based on their looks," he explained. "They're strong, obedient, and can fly, but they ultimately failed to achieve their primary objective: bringing down the Orthodox Church. In the end, the Artificial Angel Manufacturing Project was deemed a failure, and that's why they were abandoned. Since the Empire had no use for them, they were sold off to Sky Horsemen like me for a giveaway price. Though even a 'giveaway price' for these things is still an astronomical sum."
Belviro patted the side of the carriage as he spoke. Only then was Melju's curiosity piqued, and she began peering through the window to inspect the interior.
"So, has humanity's research into homunculi come to an end?" Swallow asked.
"Not at all. I can't go into too much detail with outsiders, but there's no way the Empire would abandon such military potential. There are even rumors that homunculi are being mass-produced in massive factories somewhere as we speak. Though... looking at these guys, it feels more like they're creating simple biological weapons rather than actual homunculi."
"Massive factories? Weren't they originally cultivated with extreme care inside giant flasks?"
"How long ago was that? That's the first-generation cultivation method from a hundred and fifty years ago. We live in a completely different era now."
Has it really been that long since Rene was born? Swallow thought, nodding quietly to himself.
"The carriage seems sturdy enough, so it doesn't look like you're lying," Melju chimed in. "How long will it take to reach the Hub on this?"
"Three hours of flight and one hour for inspection. It should take about four hours in total. Even if we fly, we still have to go through security at the gates."
"An inspection takes a whole hour?"
"An hour is actually on the shorter side. The closer you get to the center, the more crowded it gets, meaning you have to wait in long lines just to be inspected. Sky Horsemen have a dedicated checkpoint, which is the only reason it goes by so quickly."
"So, how much?" Swallow asked, cutting off the conversation between Melju and Belviro.
Belviro flashed that tiresome professional smile once more.
"For the two of you, that will be eight ounces of gold coins."
It was an outrageous price.
Eight ounces of gold coins was equivalent to eight hundred ounces of silver. Considering the tavern's extortionate lodging fee had been four ounces of silver per person, he would have cursed out the Sky Horseman and walked if he had any time to spare.
"I am sorry, Sir Swald... I... do not possess that much money..." Melju murmured.
"I don't carry money around either," Swallow muttered.
Melju's voice trembled beside him. Even as a Demon King, her dungeon maintenance costs far exceeded any income she made from killing humans, so eight ounces of gold was no small sum to her.
Swallow was in the same penniless boat, though for the opposite reason. He had plenty of wealth, but since he rarely left the Primordial Core, he simply kept it all hoarded away at home.
Should I just kill this Belviro guy and hijack the carriage? I wonder if those homunculi would obey my orders.
Letting out a deep sigh, Swallow rummaged through his pockets.
There was no way he had any money. Yet, his fingers brushed against something tucked deep inside. He had no idea when it had been placed there.
He pulled out a neatly folded, thick piece of paper. The note was damp, likely from the bathhouse incident that morning. Unfolding it carefully to avoid tearing it, he squinted at the smudged ink, barely managing to make out the words.
「To my careless Boss. The day will come when you'll thank me for this.
—Patrick」
Tucked inside the note were six five-ounce gold coins.
*
The whistle of wind slipping through the cracks of the carriage door brought Swallow out of his reverie.
"It is truly fortunate, Sir Swald," Melju said. "By the way, who slipped that money to you? It was quite a hefty sum, not just pocket change."
"Ah... a companion from my dungeon slipped it in secretly."
"A companion? Ah, I've been meaning to ask—even though you are a monster bound to a dungeon, how is it that you can roam around so freely?"
As she asked, Melju's gaze remained glued to the window. She found the carriage pulled by the Heavenly Wings so fascinating that she had pressed her cheek flat against the glass, straining to take in the passing scenery.
"Would saying I got kicked out be a sufficient answer?"
"Kicked out? Sir Swald, you're wandering like this because you were expelled from your dungeon? And the companion you're searching for is a fellow monster who was kicked out with you? Well, I did have a hunch. You kept dodging my questions, so I figured something must have happened."
"Something like that."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Patrick had practically kicked him out, and he, in turn, had kicked Rene out.
"I envy you. To care for a companion to the very end even after leaving your dungeon... I wish I had companions like that."
Still staring out the window, Melju continued, her voice tinged with wistful longing.
"I wish I could live a life like yours. A life where someone looks out for you, and you, in turn, set off to look out for someone else. How wonderful that must be."
The carriage soared through the sky. Peering over Melju's shoulder, Swallow looked down and saw the Imperial Palace looming in the far distance.
Phase. 4
"Are even you lot mocking me?!"
Unable to contain his fury, he hurled the document, but even the paper seemed to mock him as it fluttered weakly through the air. Crushing the sheet beneath the heel of his boot, Count Etarque spat out a string of curses.
The refined demeanor he had maintained his entire life shattered as a torrent of foul language poured from his lips. He huffed and puffed, completely devoid of a single shred of noble dignity.
He might have been relegated to this backwater town of Hastin after losing a factional struggle, but a count was still a count.
No matter how massive a threat like the Primordial Core loomed beside it, Hastin was still a proper, functioning territory.
"...Explain this."
Count Etarque, the Lord of Hastin, glared at the maid with bloodshot eyes. Terrified, the maid prostrated herself on the floor, wringing her hands in desperation. Convinced that even her begging was a form of mockery, the Count looked around before drawing a sword from its ornate stand. The room filled with her terrified wails.
"I said, explain yourself!"
He raised the sword high, poised to strike her down. His hand trembled violently. Blinded by rage, his senses seemed to fail him, and his eyes darted erratically around the room.
A long silence ensued before he could regain a shred of sanity. Only when the maid's sobbing began to subside did the panting Count finally manage to steady his breathing.
No. Calm down. Think rationally. This isn't the maid's fault.
He flung the sword aside to vent his rage. It clattered noisily as the blade bounced off the stone floor. Watching the maid flee the room in terror, her hands over her mouth, the Count picked up the crumpled paper. To confirm his worst fears, he read the notice of dungeon subjugation once more.
It was a blatant ultimatum.
It did not seek his permission; it was a unilateral declaration.
For dungeons estimated to be B-rank or higher, a subjugation squad was legally required to obtain approval from the local lord before entering. Because failed attempts often resulted in monsters surging out and laying waste to human settlements, assessing a squad's capability was a vital duty for any ruler.
A single misjudgment could lead to the ruin of his territory. Thus, the authority to grant dungeon entry was a direct measure of a lord's competence—a sovereign right that no one could infringe upon, unless the Imperial Family itself intervened.
Within his own domain, a lord's authority was, with only slight exaggeration, comparable to that of the Emperor. Hastin was no exception. Though he had been exiled to this remote corner, within Hastin, Etarque was the law.
To send such a unilateral notice—and to schedule the subjugation for a mere two days from now—was a direct challenge to his absolute authority.
Etarque ground his teeth. If he followed his instincts, he would have ransacked every corner of Hastin to drag the applicant out and tear them limb from limb.
"...Who did you say sent this?"
"It was sent under the name of the 'Third Eye,' my Lord," the elderly servant standing a short distance away answered quietly.
Yes, that was the problem.
The 'Third Eye.'
Those bastards from the damn agency directly under the Imperial Family. Having already been ruined once by factional politics, Etarque wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Imperial Court. To make matters worse, the backer listed on the document was none other than Paimore du Bellai.
A legendary tycoon widely known as an unprecedented investor.
He didn't even need to look closely to smell a rat. Though the wax seal lacked the official crest of the Imperial Family, this was practically an imperial decree. There was no way he could reject it. The fact that it had arrived as a mere notification was a silent threat warning him to fall in line.
"Those absolute bastards..."
If the subjugation failed, the investors and the squad wouldn't be the only ones suffering losses. The blame would fall squarely on the lord. It was a classic, legal method for nobles to purge their rivals. They could fabricate any charge they wanted—such as accusing him of causing needless casualties through poor judgment.
"Do you think this squad actually has a chance of conquering the Primordial Core?"
Having finally managed to suppress his rage, the Count questioned his servant. The old man simply shook his head.
Etarque shared the sentiment. Indeed, anyone would. The whole affair was incredibly half-baked. He had expected the Imperial Court to intervene in a second subjugation attempt after the death of Hero Bern, but this squad was laughably inadequate. He had never even heard the name of its captain, Niphrim.
What on earth were they planning? Were they trying to drag him down to the grave with them?